


You are bleeding all over our carpet

by Basilintime



Series: Prompts [5]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Tumblr Prompt, blood mention, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:50:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basilintime/pseuds/Basilintime
Summary: A prompt fill based on the phrase 'You're bleeding all over my carpet' slightly tweaked. Newton suddenly gets control handed back to him from the Precursors but only so he can clean up their mess.





	You are bleeding all over our carpet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alitbitmoody](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alitbitmoody/gifts).



              _You’re bleeding all over our carpet._ Their voice in his head sounded full of mocking distaste as Newton felt the wave of pain wash over him. What had they done to make him hurt so badly? His side was throbbing and as he pushed became more aware of his surroundings he saw that he, indeed, was bleeding all over the carpet in the living room. They always made him feel the pain though this was perhaps the worst physical damage they’d inflicted on him.

              “Gee, I wonder who’s fucking fault that is?” Newton almost startled at the sound of his own voice as he snarked back at them. How long had it been since they’d last given him actual control? When had been the last time they’d allowed him to speak out loud?

              _Four months, two week and four days. And, we were dealing with a…problem. The problem simply fought back._ _You are still bleeding all over our carpet._ Newton forced himself to take a few deep breaths as he shifted to sit down and carefully remove the haphazard bandage wrapped around his bicep that had been bled completely through. The bandage revealed a long but clean cut that started at his shoulder and ran down clear to his elbow. He was still bleeding but it seemed to have slowed. At least he assumed so upon looking at himself, however, he wasn’t sure the blood staining his clothes all belonged to him. He felt sick for more than one reason.

              “Fuck your carpet. And fuck you…” Newton pressed his hand against the pulse of blood. He needed to go to a hospital; needed to get stitches and maybe some spare blood pumped back into him if possible. He needed to know what they had made him do first though. “What kind of problem fights back?” He hated asking, hated that he already knew the answer as he heard their amused chirping laughter in his head. The memory hit him hard and in confusing flashes. One of the coders was trying to show them the hidden code behind the drones. He had trusted him and based on the confusing flashes of violence that trust had been rewarded with a well-hidden grave. They weren’t going to leave behind mistakes this late in the game.

              _Sew and clean yourself up. We have work in a few hours._

              “You didn’t have to do that…Come up with an explanation for the code. Blame him for it and get him fired. I mean…oh god…” Newton could feel their amusement as he felt his eyes begin to prick with tears. He had killed someone; it had been something they had threatened but had never followed through with before. Newton, honestly, felt a bit like sitting there and letting himself just bleed out all over their goddamn carpet. He knew well enough that they’d interfere before that actually happened. “I need to go to a hospital.”

              _Not an option. You will raise suspicion. You have repaired your own injuries several times before that we can find in your memories. You are capable of sewing and there is a needle and thread in the first aid kit. Fix yourself before we decide to try and fix you ourselves._

              Newton didn’t doubt that they’d do it and purposefully do the worst job they could while still making sure their walking, talking puppet stayed kicking. He sat for a while longer though, stared at that slice of red blood and exposed tissue that marred his tattoos. If they did a bad enough job it could leave some damage; some sign that he was injured. Maybe it would raise enough questions, drawing attention to him in the inevitable missing persons investigation over the coder. Maybe he’d be locked up where he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

              _We will call Hermann._ That simple phrase was enough. He understood the implied threat and that they’d follow through with it. They’d spin some lie that would convince Hermann to come to them and Newton couldn’t allow that. Instead, he reminded himself how to move his own body and dragged himself off the floor to find the first aid kit. Sat down after grabbing himself the vodka from the freezer and took a long drink straight from the bottle. He then sighed before pouring some over the injury. The sting made him hiss as he sucked in air sharply; his arm throbbing even more as he tried to wash away the blood enough to see what he was doing.

              “It wouldn’t kill you to keep some actual iodide or something like that. Not just fucking sewing supplies.” His hands shook as he got the thread, far thicker than actual sutures would be, through the eye of the needle. Newton had never stitched himself up; his ‘repair’ of his own injuries had mainly consisted of smaller cuts with butterfly bandages and burns tended with cold water and aloe. They were relishing it; enjoying every second of his pain and fear as he hesitated before finally choosing to start at the top near his shoulder. He pushed the needle through and had to bite back a soft cry at the pain. “When was the last time _I_ was able to talk to Hermann?”

              _Two years, eight months and twenty-two days. We talked to him last month though he had emailed us a few times since._ Newton was only talking with them to distract himself as he tried to keep the stitches even and close enough together to actually do some good without going overboard to where he was putting himself through more than was necessary. He tried to do the calculations in the back of his mind. If it had been another two and a half years since he’d last gotten to talk to Hermann and the previous time he could recall before that had been after a span of a year since he’d left…

              It had been roughly three to four years since the Precursors had taken hold? It both felt like far longer than that while at the same time it seemed to have passed in a blink. Time was a bit of a difficult thing to grasp when half the time you weren’t even fully aware of what your body was doing.

              _Five years._ Newton paused in what he was doing when they intruded into his line of thought. Not that they weren’t there at all times. They wouldn’t give him control and actually let him just be on his own to roam as he wanted. If he so much as thought about leaving or picking up the phone he’d be pulled back into that mental cell they kept him in. Do something else to punish him for trying. _We could still call Hermann…_

              “Fuck off, I’m not going to do anything.” Their laughter filled his head again. Newton decided it was better to just keep stitching, to focus on the work of trying to get those inked lines matched back up so they’d heal straight. When he finally finished feeling fatigued and sick he drank more vodka and then poured the last few dredges over his handiwork to clean away the fresh blood. This made him vomit before they suggested he roll the rug up in the living room. They’d made sure it was disposed of properly; no one else would even know it was there. He never had visitors.

              They left him to roam in his misery then; left him in control to wonder around the apartment that was just as much of a prison for him as his own head. He drank because crying annoyed them enough they’d take this small bit of freedom away quickly. He drank because maybe it would help him wash away the memory of taking someone’s life.

              In the morning, Dr. Newton Geiszler returned to work at Shao’s wearing his dark suits and glasses. Complained about unreliable workers when one of their coders failed to show up to work or even have the decency to call in sick.


End file.
